


Descending at Speed

by Vera (Vera_DragonMuse)



Category: Inception (2010)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-12-05
Updated: 2010-12-05
Packaged: 2017-10-21 02:12:22
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,745
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/219758
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Vera_DragonMuse/pseuds/Vera
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Arthur as it turns out is not an automaton. He has a hobby and a family. Now Eames is interested.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Descending at Speed

**Author's Note:**

  * For [sid_vicious03](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts?recipient=sid_vicious03).



"I think we all need a break.” Cobb concluded when they came up from a practice session woozy from Ariadne’s cascading walls and swirling dance floor lighting. “Let’s take a day and come back to it.”

“A whole day?” Ariadne practically sang, eyes bright. “Somewhere not here? I think I might have to kiss you, Dom.”

“Please don’t.” He protested, but a slight tug at the side of his mouth belied him. “Now get out.”

They shambled zombie-like into the sun, squinting and disoriented.

“Don’t tell me, Arthur.” Eames said as they moved towards the parking lot. “You intend to spend the day researching.”

“Fine. I won’t tell you.” He wandered towards an incredibly boring rental car, sliding into the driver’s seat. Eames leaned in through the window.

“So you’re going to spend the day all cooped up?”

“You told me not to tell you.” The key slid into the ignition.

“Now my interest is piqued.” He leaned in further, breath caressing Arthur’s cheek.

“Is it?” Arthur lifted an eyebrow and started the car.

He pulled out, nearly dragging Eames along with the car. Eames felt it was only right to follow up on this suspicious activity. The next morning, he was sitting on the hood of the rental when Arthur came downstairs.

“No need to dress up on my account.” He said immediately, taken off guard.

Arthur wore dark crisply creased jeans, pristine white sneakers and a sweatshirt that might once have proclaimed his association with a university, but the letters had long since peeled off. His hair drifted in waves around his face.

“Either get in the car and shut up or get out of my way.” Arthur growled.

Eames got in the car.

“Where are we going?”

Arthur reached over and turned on the radio. A young woman brightly read off the weather and traffic as they drove towards the interstate. Respecting the cone of silence, Eames leaned back and studied this new side of his old acquaintance. Curiously, his essential Arthur-ness was unaffected by the severe costume change. Even with his hair loose, there was something deadly and tight about him. Perhaps it was the way his hands clenched the wheel, turning it in sharp precise motions or maybe the compressed line of his mouth and the quick movements of his eyes as he studied the road.

When the woman’s voice faded into a man’s stern news report, Eames settled in for the long haul. It was a pleasant autumn day in New England, the leaves bursting with brilliant color. He knew that if he rolled down the window the car would soon be awash with the crisp burnt smells of fall. The sudden turn as Arthur moved towards an exit jarred him out of his reverie and he couldn’t say for sure how long they’d been driving.

They seemed, impossibly, to be headed towards a jumble of bright colors peeking over the tree tops.

“Really?” He asked, when they made the turn into the field of cars. “Are we here to steal something?”

“No.” They parked and walked towards the gate.

“Good place to pick pockets.”

Arthur bought two tickets, handed one to Eames and shook his head.

“No stealing.”

The gate keeper looked bored and limp as he tore their tickets and handed them cartoon maps. Once inside, Arthur opened his, took it in then shoved it into a pocket. Eames had no doubt that he’d memorized the entire layout in that glance.

“No stealing.” He agreed. “So what?”

“This way.”

The park was mostly empty given the early hour and late season. It would probably open only a few more weeks before shutting down for the winter. The few customers were all walking with a purpose towards various rides and attractions.

They wound their way past listless hawkers, whose games were still wet from last night’s dew, before coming to a modest line in front of painted sign.

“Arthur.”

“Eames.”

“This is a roller coaster.”

“Thank you for joining the program in progress.” Arthur drawled.

“We drove out here for a roller coaster.”

“I drove out here for a roller coaster, yes.”

“Why?”

Arthur gave him a long searching look, then shrugged and reached into his pocket. He pulled out a folded piece of paper old enough that the edges were soft. He unfolded in gingerly.

“A list.” Eames looked over it. “I’m shocked.”

The list was of strange names. Many of them had dates listed next to them and several had been added in different inks on the bottom.

“It’s a list of all the wooden roller coasters in the world.” Arthur folded it back up carefully. “I’ve ridden nearly half of them.”

“You have a hobby!” Eames beamed at him. “Just like a real person.”

The woman in front of them turned around looking perplexed. Eames flashed her a smile until she rolled her eyes and turned away.

“Aren’t you supposed to be good at studying people?” Arthur asked as they moved up the line.

“You wouldn’t work with me if I wasn’t good at what I did.”

“Then perhaps I’m a very particular blind spot.”

“I see you very well.” Eames said, giving him an exaggerated looking over that Arthur pointedly ignored.

“Do you?”

By the time Eames had thought of a response, they were boarding the car pressed tightly against each other. The lap bar came down securing them in place.

“You know, I’ve never been on one of these before.” Eames said idly.

“A wooden coaster?”

“Any roller coaster at all.”

The serious expression of Arthur’s face cracked apart into a mischievous smile.

“You might want to hang on.”

The car lurched and took off. The coaster climbed the mountain, ascending towards the clouds. When it reached the pinnacle, Eames looked down.

“Oh.” He said faintly and then they were off.

Someone behind them screamed and only Eames’ hard earned discipline prevented him from joining in. Next to him, Arthur laughed in a pure note of joy. The wind rushed past them and the previously idyllic scenery became a blur of color. Fear shot through Eames’ blood, waking him up with the pulse of adrenaline. When the ride finally ceased, he turned on Arthur in a whirl.

“You do this for fun? Are you utterly mad?”

“Sometimes.” Arthur climbed out, rock steady while Eames lurched and stumbled down the path.

“You don’t get enough of a rush being shot at on a semi-regular basis?”

“It’s different.” Arthur shrugged. “I’m going again. Coming?”

Eames stared disbelieving after him, but not one to back down from a challenge, followed him back. The second time around, Eames started to understand what Arthur might see in it. It was a safe sort of fear and the rush of air was exhilarating, a little like flying. The third time around he was whooping alongside him and reluctant to part from it.

“There’s a pirate ship.” Arthur enticed, eyes dancing. “You’ll like it.”

They took advantage of the quiet crowd to ride everything at least once. By the time the sun was high in the sky, they were dizzy and faces sore from laughing. Arthur led him to tented pavilion, plonking overpriced burgers and fries in front him.

“You remembered the mayonnaise!” Eames said delighted, dredging his fries through it.

“You can have it as long as not a single molecule of it touches the ketchup.”

“Strict.” Eames smirked, but kept the mayo carefully on his side of the fries. “Have you ever tried creating a roller coaster in dreams?”

“Once. It’s not the same.” Arthur bit into the burger, wrinkling his nose at the burnt taste.

“How so?”

“Haven’t you ever tried to play poker there?”

“Several times.” Eames took up his own burger and made a similar moue of disgust, but ate it to appease his rumbling stomach. “Cheating is too easy.”

“Exactly.” Arthur smothered his fries in an obscene amount of ketchup.

“So once in a while, the great iron-fisted Arthur likes to give up control?”

“Once in a while.” Arthur licked ketchup off his fingers.

“You shouldn’t do that in public.” Eames grinned. “Might cause an accident.”

“You’re ludicrous.” But he took up a napkin.

“So before I joined you, you intended to just ride the roller coaster and go home?”

“Probably. Sometimes I stay a while longer. I like amusement parks.”

“Sounds a bit lonely.” Eames offered.

“And what would you have been doing if you hadn’t followed me here?”

“Probably go the cinema.”

“By yourself?”

“We’re not sociable creatures, are we?”

Arthur leaned back in his plastic chair, studying Eames as if seeing him for the first time.

“No.” He agreed. “We’re not.”

“Let’s do that haunted house thing next. Always did like a good ghost story.”

They clamored upwards and outwards to the jerky cart that propelled them past such patently fake monsters that Eames spent most of the time critiquing the style.

“My mother has more chest hair!” He howled at the werewolf that lunged at them.

“You should never be allowed out in public.” Arthur mumbled, but by the time they reached the end, he was in on it. “I’ve spat out more convincing blobs.”

“Charming.” Eames laughed.

They passed the hawkers again on their way back across the park and Eames insisted on stopping at one of the shooting games.

“Show me what you’ve got.” He told Arthur, plunking a plastic rifle into his hands.

The first shot went wide and Arthur’s eyes narrowed dangerously. For a brief moment, Eames was sure he would have to protect the pimple-faced operator from a vicious and systematic beating. Instead, Arthur squared his shoulders and shifted to compensate for the gun’s ludicrous pull.

“Pick a prize.” Arthur told Eames, before hitting the center of each target in succession.

“Oh, I’ll take that hideous neon blue horse. Ariadne will love it.”

The stunned operator handed it over, blinking at Arthur like he’d seen the face of God. Eames sympathized.

“That is the most hideous stuffed animal I’ve ever seen.” Arthur glared at the offending pony.

“I didn’t know you were a connoisseur of stuffed toys.”

“I have a niece and nephew.”

“You’ve a sibling?”

“Sister and a brother.” Arthur shoved his hands into his sweatshirt’s front pocket.

“Names?” He asked, to see if he could.

“Gwen and Lance.”

“Who was obsessed with the Round Table then?”

“Mother. She always wanted a theme.” Arthur smiled vaguely. “We pointed out that given the relationships between the characters, it was a bit disturbing that she named three siblings for them. She told us to get over it.”

“I think I would like your mum.” Eames opined.

“Could be mutual. She always has a soft spot for scoundrels.”

“Why did I know none of this before?”

“You never asked before.” Arthur shrugged.

“Would you have told me if I has asked a year ago?”

Arthur stared into a window filled with candy jars.

“Would you have asked a year ago?”

Eames looked into the window, examining their faint reflections. They made a strange pair in the glass.

“No.”

“Ready to go?” Arthur turned away from the window. “We should be back before it gets dark.”

“Are you going to turn into a pumpkin?”

“No, I have reservations at the only nice restaurant in the one horse town we’re staying in.”

“Room for another? Of course, I won’t go if you’re going to lick your fingers like a heathen again.”

“Don’t be an idiot.” Arthur’s eyes glittered dangerously. “You know you’d only come if I licked something.”

Eames was so stunned, Arthur was nearly halfway to the gate before he caught up with him.

“Did you just willingly and without cause use sexual innuendo against me?”

Arthur continued to the car in smug silence.

Back on the highway, the radio filled the space where there could have been conversation. It was a music station this time, a few crooners telling sad stories curling around them. When they reached the hotel, Arthur excused himself to change.

“But I was enjoying this look so much.” Eames protested.

“Were you?” Arthur looked down at himself. “Well, you would.”

“What’s that meant to mean?”

“In the lobby at eight.”

“But-”

“See you then, Mr. Eames.”

The inside of Eames’ hotel room seemed more restricted then he remembered. He set the neon blue pony on the dresser. It’s embroidered eyes followed him as he unpacked his grey pinstripe suit, laying it out with soft blue shirt. Rubbing his chin thoughtfully, he ducked into the bathroom for a quick shave. And since there was shaving cream on his face, he might as well shower. And put on a hint of cologne. He stopped short of putting on a tie.

The lobby had deep slippery chairs that he gave up the pretense of sitting in long before eight. By the time Arthur came down (eight on the dot, of course), he had taken up conversation with a sleek looking couple visiting from Canada.

“Is this gentleman bothering you?” Arthur asked. He had been restored to a three piece suit in a crisp navy blue, tie in a half-Windsor, but his hair was still loose. Eames stared.

“He was being perfectly charming.” The wife gifted them with a wide smile. “You must be Arthur.”

“I must be.” Arthur raised an eyebrow at Eames who shrugged.

“We won’t keep you.” The husband shook Eames hand. “Pleasure to meet you. Look us up if you’re ever in Toronto.”

“Good luck!” The wife sang out as they headed outside.

“Good luck with what?” Arthur asked.

“I told them we were here to close a big business deal.”

The restaurant was Greek and the wine selection more than adequate.

“Split a bottle of red?” Eames offered.

“I’ll stick with water.”

“Afraid I’ll take advantage of you in a tipsy state?”

“I’m allergic to sulfates. Gives me migraines.”

“Really?” Eames squinted at the wine list than shrugged and ordered a glass of red anyway. “Bees for me. Nasty buggers.”

“I know.” Arthur frowned at his water glass. “It was on your medical records. There’s an epi pen in the first aid kit if you ever need it.”

“And back to the Arthur I know.” Eames laughed. “You’re a little like a stalker.”

“I am an efficient researcher with violent tendencies.” Arthur corrected.

“So exactly like a stalker than.”

“How is that you’d never been on a roller coaster?”

“Never came up, did it? Never wound up near an amusement park as a sprat. Didn’t occur to me to visit one as an adult. What about you? What got you started on this whole wooden coaster quest?”

“I like them.” Arthur shrugged. “There was a small amusement park by my house growing up and they had this great metal coaster and a smaller wooden one. The wooden one was by far better even though was shorter and slower. I decided that when I was older, I’d ride one everywhere I travelled And I have.”

“And you’ve been doing this all this time? Slipping away for an afternoon?”

“Mal used to come with me.” A shadow passed over his face. “She liked the huge metal monstrosities with the loops. She would shout obscenities in French through the whole ride.”

“I can’t picture her like that.” Eames admitted. “She was such a lady.”

“Yes, she was.” Arthur shook off his sorrow. “We would go after the job was done. Dom always needed to sleep, but we’d be buzzed. It kept the excitement going.”

“And now you go alone.”

“Not today.”

“No.” Eames agreed. “Not today.”

They regarded each other over the flickering candles and something eased in Eames’ stomach. Something he hadn’t been aware was tensed.

“Do you know that with your hair down like that, you look just like yourself?” Eames said softly.

“I can’t look like anyone, but myself. That’s not where my talents lie.”

Eames let it go. “Tell me, do you have any other interesting hobbies I should know about?”

“I don’t think you’ll find in interesting.”

“Tell me and let’s find out.”

“I read books about theoretical physics. Nothing complicated, things written for lay men.”

“Theoretical physics.” Eames repeated.

“String theory. Multiple dimensions. The potential of time travel. That kind of thing.”

“Why?”

“Don’t you wonder?” Arthur asked, a little incredulous. “If there’s something more to all this? That there are layers beyond our understanding?”

“I don’t dwell on it. That way can lie madness.”

“Unless it leads to comprehension.”

“Most people would go to church.”

“I wasn’t raised with religion. Mother was big on science.”

“And your father?”

“Died when I was seven. Though I’m told he was a fanatical agnostic.”

“My apologies.” Eames sighed. “Mine too. Dead, not an agnostic. Let me guess, you’re the eldest? You’ve got that protective streak.”

“Birth order psychology has been proven to be nonsense.” He gave him a half-smile. “But yes. And you’re an only child. Needs to be the center of attention?”

“Total rubbish, most definitely.” Eames laughed. “It’s a bit like those charlatan mediums on t.v. Make your statements general enough and they’ll apply.”

“Exactly.”

They talked comfortably through dinner about family, physics and literature. Work never came up once. Eames even managed to get Arthur to agree to dessert, a delicious roll of phyllo pastry oozing with custard.

“You can’t tell me you’ve no sweet tooth at all.” He wheedled.

“I don’t indulge often.”

“All the more excuse to do so today. It’s been...what’s that charming new term? A daycation.”

They ate the creamy mess with warring forks.

“We’ll have time after this job.” Eames ventured when it was reduced to crumbs. “Where will you go?”

“Home.” Arthur said immediately. “You?”

“I want to meet your mum.” Eames smiled winningly. “You said she’d like me yourself.”

“All right.”

“What? Really?”

“Really.” Arthur gave him a challenging look. “Unless you weren’t serious.”

“Serious as an archbishop at mass. Where is home exactly?”

“Three hours from here by plane.”

They walk back to the hotel was slow and quiet. Arthur seemed absorbed in some deep thought. The silence didn’t grate and by the time they reached the lobby, the sound of people talking was startling.

“Lovely night.” Eames commented, turning to face his companion. “We must do it again soon.”

“Must we?”

And then Arthur did something extraordinary. He moved in close and brushed a kiss, just one, over Eames’ lips. When Eames reached for him to draw him close, Arthur was already gone, halfway to the elevator.

“Tease!” He called after him.

“I don’t put out on a first date, Mr. Eames.” The doors closed too quickly for him to tell if Arthur had winked at him.

The next day on the job it was as if none of it had ever happened. Pinned back together, hair slick, Arthur was point man to Cobb’s strategist. He continued his gentle training of Ariadne, now hidden in among conversations, so subtle that she never caught on that she was still learning. He ordered Eames around like he’d hired him off the street without a trace of irony. Eames took note and responded in kind, not entirely sure of the game being played.

When he returned to his hotel room, overheated and irritable, there was a folder laid neatly on his pillow like a mint. The room showed no signs of a break in. He searched his luggage for a glove, pulling it on before delicately opening the folder. Paranoia had saved him more than once.

Inside was a plane ticket, a rental agreement and printed directions from the airport to ‘44 Evergreen Ave’. A short note in Arthur’s precise handwriting was attached to the direction.

‘I will be returning home earlier than expected. The job does not require anything further from me. You’re invited for whenever you can arrive, the ticket is valid until the end of the month.’

The note was unsigned though there was a slight mark of ink underneath the message. A hesitation mark where a pen had stuttered and failed. Eames beamed at the tiny error and folded note, ticket and directions into his pocket. The enormity of what Arthur was trusting him with was not lost on him. The blue pony smiled at him. Eames frowned, he really had to remember to give the thing to Ariadne.

Doing a job without Arthur wasn’t difficult. He had left behind all his research and notes, tabbed and color coded. The subconscious wasn’t militarized or even particularly organized. Everything ran smoothly and in a few short days, they were splitting up again. Ariadne back to school in Paris, Cobb to his children and Eames on a plane to the middle of suburban America, taking a leap of faith.

Evergreen Street was an upper middle class lane decaying slowly downwards. The houses were old, but kept up while the sidewalks crumbled under bike wheels and jogging feet. House 44 was a brick Tudor with a bright blue door. A towering maple tree dropped orange and red leaves onto the well trimmed lawn.

There were two cars and a minivan piled into the driveway. He parked on the street and after a single deep breath, walked up the stone pathway. Through the door, he could hear voices tumbling up and down, some clearly children. The door bell chimed smoothly through the din and footsteps echoed towards him.

The door eased open, revealing Arthur arms full of a squirming little boy and a girl in a purple tutu attached to his leg.

“You came.” Arthur’s eyes widened only a fraction, but Eames was trained to watch for these things.

“You bought me a ticket, of course I came. You know how I feel about free things.” He smiled at the boy in Arthur’s arms. “Who is this then?”

“This is Toby and the growth on my leg is Bunny.”

“Good day to you Toby.” The boy grinned and squirmed with renewed vigor. Eames squatted down and held out his hand. “Pleasure to meet you Bunny. My name is Eames.”

“My name is Bethany.” She said firmly, shaking his hand with a powerful intensity. “Only family can call me Bunny.”

“A privileged few.” He said gravely. “That’s a lovely tutu.”

“I had a recital this afternoon.” Her eyes were the same chocolate brown as Arthur’s and held the same restrained curiosity. “Are you staying for dinner? We’re having Grandma’s spaghetti.”

“I suppose I am.” He glanced up at Arthur who shrugged and nodded.

“I’ll go tell Grandma.” She pulled away from Arthur’s leg, leaving a mysterious sticky spot on his trousers.

“She’s delightful.” He transferred his smile to the still squirming boy. “Any reason that you’re restraining him?”

“He bit me.” Arthur juggled the boy in his arms until he was screaming with laughter. “Apparently it’s a phase of some kind.”

“If it is than it’s one I never grew out of.” He grinned, pleased to see Arthur’s lip twitch. “Why not let him loose and introduce me to the lady of the house?”

“When I put you down, you are to go to the kitchen and color peaceably. Understood?” The growl that kept a team of grown men and women in line had little effect on a two year old.

“No!” He shrieked and wiggled more vigorously. “Wanna play monster!”

“You are a monster.” Arthur informed him and held him upside down to the boy’s delight.

“You’re only encouraging him.” A slim woman, Arthur’s doppelganger in heels and a B-cup, slipped into the hall.

“Maybe a little.” Arthur set the boy on the ground. “Gwen, this is Mr. Eames.”

“Please, just Eames.” He smiled winningly at her.

She raised an eyebrow. Her hair was pulled back in a neat bun and she wore a sharp navy business suit. Standing next to her brother, they looked like an advertisement for designer genes.

“You’re staying for dinner?”

“Yes, if it’s not too much of a burden.”

“You’re already here.” She said and crossed her arms. It was almost uncanny. “Then you’d best come meet Mother. This way.”

Her heels made no noise on the tile. Apparently the cat foot sneakiness was also genetic. The hall spilled into a large airy kitchen painted a buttery yellow. Bunny was settled at a kitchen table, doing the ordered peaceable coloring. Toby ran in circles around her chair chanting something incomprehensible.

Standing at the stove was an elegant middle aged woman with soft gray hair billowing around her shoulders. Delicate silver glasses perched on the end of her nose, matching her sweater set and crisply pressed slacks. Gwen leaned on the counter nearby, watching Eames like he might urinate in front of the children. It was such a familiar look that it served only to make him feel more at home.

“Eames this is Yvonne, my mother.” Arthur started. “Mother, this is Eames.”

“Is it?” She set down the wooden spoon she’d been using and wiped her hands on a dish towel. “I thought you said he wasn’t coming.”

“I said I wasn’t sure.” Arthur mumbled.

“Don’t mumble.” She clucked her tongue than looked Eames over. Her eyes were a sharp blue, but the set of her chin and high cheekbones were unmistakable. “So you are Eames.”

“Yes, m’am.”

“And what is that you do, Mr. Eames?”

For a split second, he wavered. They hadn’t spoken about a cover story.

“He’s a forger.” Arthur said for him. “The best, as it happens.”

“A forger.” She repeated looking him over. “Did you know Teagan Martin?”

“By reputation only. But what I’ve heard she was incredible.”

“I worked with her several times.” She nodded approvingly. “Good forgers are difficult to come by. Gwen, stop slouching and get Toby off the floor than finish setting the table. Arthur, find Lance and tell him it’s time for dinner.”

“May I ask what is you do?” Eames asked as everyone obediently followed directions.

“I’m practically retired now.” She stirred the pot on the stove slowly. “I was a psychologist, mostly private practice. I got involved with PASIV research in the early stages.”

“You’re the Yvonne?” He stared at her. “I’ve read all of your papers. Your theory on mutability in dreaming is what I base my forging technique on.”

“Is it?” She tasted the sauce. “That’s flattering. It was all being in the right place at the right time.”

“Mother!” Gwen shouted from the dining room. “Where are all the forks?”

“In the top left drawer of the breakfront.” She yelled back.

Arthur reappeared in the doorway.

“Lance is AWOL.”

“He’s probably in the backyard sneaking a cigarette.” She shooed him towards the door. “Tell him that he’s not fooling anybody.”

“I hope I’m not interrupting a special occasion.”

“We always gather together on Fridays when Arthur comes home. We see him so rarely.” She turned off the flame and turned to face him. “We get phone calls occasionally, letters when he can’t use a phone. It’s not the life I imagined for him. What about your mother? Does she know what you do?”

“No.” He thought of Mum’s tidy house in Kent with the kettle ready to boil the moment he came in the front door. “She prefers it that way.”

“Have you met Dom Cobb?”

“Many times. I met Arthur through him.”

“And is he a good man?”

He thought about the lies that nearly cost them everything, the deception and the mania that seized Dom after Mal died. He thought about him now as a strong leader and good father.

“He’s like anyone else. A little bit of good, a little bit of bad, but mostly trying to make it in the world.”

“He took my son from me.” She said baldly, emotionless. “For two years. Tell me that it was worth it.”

“It was worth it.” He affirmed. “Arthur did a good thing, sticking by him.”

“And what about you, Eames?” She regarded him over the frames of her glasses. “Will it be worth it when I lose my son to you?”

“You won’t.” He laughed at the sheer possibility. “I’m happy to make sure Arthur comes home to visit.”

The back door opened, flinging Arthur back inside along with a man that was presumably his brother.

“He was smoking.” Arthur reported. “Lance, Eames. Eames, Lance.”

“Hello.” Eames held out a hand.

Lance was taller and broader than Arthur. He sported a mop of blond hair that fell to his shoulders. His tweed jacket had leather patches on the elbows and his steel rimmed glasses sank slowly down his nose. His handshake was clammy.

“Nice to meet you.” Lance grumbled, then shoved his glasses back up his nose and smacked Arthur on the arm. “Tattletale.”

“Brat.”

“Boys! Dinner’s ready. Go sit.”

The dining room table was long enough to accommodate all of them at a squeeze. He sat between Arthur and Bunny, who was eyeing the basket of garlic bread furtively. Gwen sat across from him, keeping Toby appeased with cheerios while Yvonne set out heaping bowls of spaghetti and sauce.

“Your mum is lovely.” He said quietly. “Wish I’d known who she was before. Would’ve asked for a visit much earlier.”

“She’ll tell you everything about her work if you ask.” Arthur took up tongs and serving up mounds of pasta onto each plate.

“Please don’t.” Lance’s eyes widened comically. “She’ll monopolize all of dinner.”

“Don’t be a prick.” Gwen elbowed him hard.

“Ow! God, why are you so bony?”

“What is that you do, Lance?” Eames interrupted.

“I’m working on my doctorate in English Literature.” He said, shoving his glasses back up his nose.

“Ask him what his dissertation is about.” Gwen grinned.

“Just because you’re too stuck in numbers to appreciate it-”

“The working title is Salty Shakespeare: An exploration into the foul mouth of the bard, isn’t it?” Arthur piped in.

“I hate you both.” Lance slumped in his chair. “It’s a language study in regards to class structure!”

“Sit up.” Yvonne barked at him as she came in the room. “And don’t say hate. Gwen, don’t tease your brother. He’s working very hard on his paper.”

“It’s a dissertation, Mother.”

“Yes, dear and I’m sure it will be lovely.” She settled into her seat. “Shall we?”

“Spaghetti is my favorite.” Bunny confided to Eames’ elbow. “Can I have more sauce?”

Eames gave her a generous ladle.

“And what about you Gwen?”

“What about me?” She cut precisely into the spaghetti, turning it to finger food for Toby.

“What is it that you do for a living?” He pressed on.

“I’m an organic chemist. I work for the Army. It’s classified.”

“You did breed them for brains.” Eames said to Yvonne.

“They are hard workers.” A faint smile rose on her lips. “That is the trick. Smarter men and women have failed where they will succeed.”

“You make us sound like a eugenics program.” Lance complained, twirling a frightening amount of noodles onto his fork.

“Will you stay long?” Yvonne turned to Arthur.

“A month, maybe more.” He set down his fork. “Might rent one of the condos on Oak Street.”

“But Cobb-” Eames started and than bit back the rest of the sentence when both Yvonne and Arthur stared daggers at him. “Will definitely understand. Probably enjoy the time home with his children.”

“Exactly.” Arthur said firmly.

“Mr. Eames.” Bunny tugged on his sleeve. “Did you know that I’m going to be a princess in our next recital?”

“I hadn’t heard.” He blessed her for excellent timing. “Princess of what?”

“Of the swans.” She looked at him solemnly. “I get to dance on my own for a whole minute.”

“That’s very impressive. You must be very good.”

Her bright chatter and Toby’s constant demands isolated him from the conversation at the other end of the table until after everything had been consumed.

“All right, it’s getting late.” Lance stood up. “C’mon now, Bunny. Mommy will be wondering where we got too.”

“Mommy knows where we are.” Bunny rolled her eyes and said in loud whisper to Eames. “He always pretends to steal us, but we only come to Grandma’s house.”

“Yes, Daddy is very silly.” Lance agreed, plucking Toby from Gwen’s arms.

If he weren’t so used to reading Arthur, Eames might have missed the quick sadness that crossed over Gwen’s face and then the resigned stillness as she hugged Bunny goodbye.

“They’re his?” Eames turned to Arthur when everyone else was busy getting the children bundled for the long trip from front door to car door.

“They got married when she was pregnant with Bunny.” Arthur frowned, his forehead wrinkling unbecomingly. “Mother was upset. It was a money issue. They’re both still in grad school.”

“You’ve helped them.” It wasn’t a question. “What about Gwen?”

“She keeps her own council.” Arthur stared at his willowy sister, who bent to press a kiss to Toby’s head.

“Like her brother then.”

When the departure was over, Gwen sank into a embroidered armchair in the living room. While Arthur and his mother cleared the table, he made his way to the over stuffed couch next to her.

“Beautiful children.” He commented.

“Yes.” She was staring out the window into the murk of evening where the maple swayed in the breeze. “What are you doing here, Mr. Eames?”

“Excuse me?”

“In the eight years since he became a criminal, my brother hasn’t brought home anyone. Not a friend, not a business associate. No one.” She still did not look at him. “So I ask you, what are you doing here?”

“Perhaps that’s a question better directed at him.”

“Perhaps.”

“So you all know about his life? What he does? How does that work?” The curiosity had been eating at him.

“Mother practically led him into it. Both of us. My research is tangential to the work done on the PASIV. We thought for a while that Lance might join the family business, but that was his rebellion.”

“Your Mother suggested that Arthur do extractions?”

“She suggested that he was fit to be a researcher. It was Cobb and that wife of his...what was her name?”

“Mallorie.” Eames supplied. “She’s dead.”

“I know. Arthur called us after the funeral.” She settled back in the chair, her suit jacket rumping, bun coming undone. “Anyway, they led him into extracting. He told me immediately, so that I could protect the family if someone connected him to us. When he came back from that big job...the inception, he told Mother. She already knew like she always does.”

“And none of you care?”

“He’s my big brother.” She said simply. He supposed to her, it was simple. Arthur could do that to people.

“He’s extraordinary.” Eames offered into the silence.

She turned to him, prying her gaze from the window to look him over.

“Ah.” She said. “I see how it lies then.”

“Do you? Because it’d be wonderful if someone would explain it to me.”

“Explain what?” Arthur emerged from the kitchen, perching himself on the arm of Gwen’s chair.

“None of your business.” Gwen leaned into her brother’s side and he put a protective hand on her shoulder. “I was wondering what Mr. Eames was doing here and he suggested I ask you.”

“He’s here because I asked.”

“Gwen, are you staying here tonight?” Yvonne called from the kitchen.

“No, Mother!’ She shouted back. “I’ve got work early tomorrow.”

“You work too hard.” Yvonne came in, laden with blankets and sheets. “Arthur, am I making up a guest room for your friend or is he sharing yours?”

Eames watched with great interest as a faint flush rose up Arthur’s neck. Gwen caught it to and covered her mouth with her hand to hide a smile.

“He’s on his own.” Arthur said firmly, regaining himself.

“I’ll just make up the bed then.”

“And I’ll head out.” Gwen rose and kissed her brother on the cheek. She stared down at Eames. “Don’t fuck up.”

“Gwen!” Yvonne looked horrified. “Language!”

“Sorry, Mother.” She gave her mother a swift hug over the linens and headed out the front door.

“That girl.” Yvonne clucked then headed up the stairs.

“Take a walk with me.” Arthur said when she was out of hearing range.

“All right.”

The chill in the air took Eames by surprise. He shoved his hands in his pockets and wished for a thicker jacket as they picked their way to the sidewalk. The street lights were just coming on and spilled murky light on them.

“You and your sister look like twins.”

“Genetics will do that.”

“Your family is lovely.”

“Are they?” Arthur sounded amused.

“Maybe not perfect, but families aren’t.” He stepped around a broken bit of sidewalk. “It’s always just been me and Mum. I like being around big families.”

“I would have liked a little more quiet.”

“If you had any more quiet, you’d be a monk.” Eames laughed. “You have a talent for isolating yourself in crowd.”

“That’s having siblings. I’d be studying for a test while Gwen screamed at Mother and Lance’s band practiced in the garage.”

“Was the band any good?”

“It sounded like dying cats.”

They circled the block and in the lighted windows of the houses, Eames could make out various domestic scenes. Most were accompanied by the flickering light of a television set.

“Why did you invite me here?” He asked. “No one else, but me.”

“Gwen.” Arthur huffed out in irritation.

“I figured it out anyway. When your Mother said she’d never met Dom.”

“They would hate each other.” Arthur’s shoulders hunched slightly as if in preparation for the imagined stress. “Mother doesn’t have any patience for dramatics. Dom likes to think I was born the day he met me. ”

“Arthur. The question.”

“I invited you here because I wanted too.” Slowing his pace, Arthur put a tentative hand on Eames’ elbow. “Because I’ve imagined what it would be like to have you at that table many times.”

“Why me? Why now?”

“There’s never been time before.” Arthur’s grip on his elbow tightened with sudden urgency that took them both off guard. “I hated you for too long. By the time I’d re-evaluated, my life belonged to Dom. I couldn’t leave him on his own.”

“You were barely civil to me during that entire job.”

“I’m not prone to confession.” They had reached 44 again. They paused outside, a scene of hesitation. “And you refused to look beyond what you already knew.”

“So you were just going to wait forever for me to catch on?” Eames shook his head. “What if I never figured it out?”

“Then I would have found someone else. I don’t believe there to be only one person for everyone in the world.”

“And as soon as I looked beyond, you introduce me to your mother? Aren’t you skipping a few skips on the intimacy ladder?”

“I’ve been inside your head.” Arthur pointed out. “Talked to your projections and walked in your poorly designed dreams. I’ve trusted you to protect my sleeping body. What else would you like?”

“You could say the same thing of any number of people.”

“I don’t trust any number of people. I know that money will motivate them to do their jobs, but I don’t trust them.”

Arthur’s fingers moved from his elbow to his bicep, the warmth of his fingers was a brand in the night’s chill.

“Tell me why I’m here.” Eames said, his lips only inches from Arthur’s.

“Because I want you to be a part of my home.”

“Efficient of you.” Eames laughed, hoarse and addled. “Pick someone out, test them for years than skip most of the relationship and go to straight to the marriage proposal.”

“Don’t be an idiot.” Arthur leaned in that last critical inch.

The kiss was far better than the last one. It was a through investigation, full of partings and restartings. Every time Eames pulled away to suggest they move inside, Arthur leaned forward to reach him. The rest of the world started to fade away. A blurry fever built in Eames chest, spiralling downwards.

“We should go inside.” Arthur said faintly.

“I’ve been trying to say. Will your mum be awake?”

“Probably, but my room is on the other side of the house from hers.”

They crept in like teenagers. The darkness and the silence cradled the fragile thing growing between them. Their fingers enmeshed in the hallway until Arthur opened a door and pulled Eames inside. In the shadows, he could make out only shapes. He found the edge of the bed and sat, heart racing. The door shut quietly. Arthur stood in front of him, forcing Eames to part his legs to make room.

Leaning forward, he rested his head on Arthur’s stomach. The unromantic sounds of digestion met his ear, forgotten immediately when warm hands landed on his shoulders, messaging away the tension that had settled there.

“You must be jet lagged.” Arthur said quietly.

“I wasn’t thinking on it until you mentioned it.” Eames scolded through the inevitable yawn. “But I’ve stayed awake through worse. I have incentive.”

He pulled Arthur down to tangle his tongue with his again. They fell onto the mattress. Eames slid his hands under Arthur’s jacket, pulling at the hem of his shirt. They wound up in a miserable tangle of cloth that Arthur only just managed to extricate them from. When he was finished, they were both naked and the long stretch of warm skin pressed to his own made Eames groan with unrestrained pleasure.

“I’m going to fuck you.” Arthur growled into Eames’ ear.

“What if I like to top?”

“Then you can do it next time. I’m flexible.”

“Are you now?”

“We’re already naked. Innuendo is redundant at this point.”

“Innuendo is a way of life.” Eames laughed and Arthur bit his neck until he moaned. “You can keep doing that.”

“How about you shut up?” Arthur suggested then turned his attention to taking Eames apart piece by piece with his mouth.

If asked previously what he thought Arthur might be like as a lover, he would have said something flippant. Digging further, he might have guessed that he’d be methodical and have a tendency to the violent. He would have been very close to right. Arthur took his time, examining, licking and generally exploring every inch of him. Occasionally his bites veered into the painful. But what Eames could not have accounted for was the single-minded passion.

With other lovers, Eames’ mind would sometimes wander. Arthur wouldn’t allow it. Every time that Eames started to think on something else, a nip or a lick would bring him back. When Arthur finally took Eames’ cock into his mouth it was a little anticlimactic. It turned out that Arthur was only fantastic at giving head instead of bloody amazing as he had been up to that point.

“If you want me to come by all means keep going.”

“Weren’t you shutting up?” Arthur asked, sounding anything but annoyed.

“No. Do you have any lube?”

Arthur paused. “I didn’t think you were coming.”

“Oh ye of little faith.”

“Do you have any?”

“No. Bit faithless myself as it happens.”

They stared at each other.

“Bathroom.” Arthur said, grabbing up a pair of pants, shoving them on and heading out the door.

He returned with several containers, looking less than pleased with his haul. Eames sat up and picked through in the dim moonlight.

“Vaseline? Have you ever put this on your prick before?” He tossed it off the bed. “Like fucking through gelatin that is.”

“It’s what they used before they made Astroglide.”

“Yes, well I don’t call you using smoke signals, now do I? Ancient technology should stay ancient.” He pulled up another bottle. “Lotion? Not bad.”

“It’s floral.”

Experimentally, Eames opened it and sniffed, placing the smell immediately.

“This is your mum’s. Smelled it on her earlier.”

They both looked horrified at the bottle and it was also tossed away.

“Baby oil. Promising.” Eames shook it. “Be a bit of a mess though.”

“The sheets wash. Mother is used to me doing laundry at odd hours.” Arthur paused. “Do you know baking soda is the key to getting out blood stains?”

“Fantastic. Are we going to have sex sometime in the very near future? Is it going to include blood letting?”

“You’re an ass.” Arthur pushed Eames flat on the bed again.

“Yes, I’ve a lovely arse. No doubt one of my many sterling features that att- fuck!”

Arthur had apparently noticed that in the lubricant evaluation, Eames erection had deflated. He was doing his best to correct that issue with his mouth. It didn’t take long to return his flagging interest to it’s former glory. Soon Arthur reached for the baby oil, popping the top and dripping some onto his fingers. Predictably it got everywhere.

“Slip and slide sex!” Eames said delightedly as Arthur attempted to get a hold on his thigh.

“I used to have dignity.” Arthur said into Eames’ knee, before finally sliding one finger home.

“Right there.” Eames encouraged, spreading his legs. “Dignity never looked well on you. Another?”

Arthur obliged perhaps a little too quickly and Eames had to suck a breath hard through his teeth.

“It’s been a bit of a while.” He suddenly recalled.

“How long is a while?” Arthur asked, fingers stuck up Eames’ ass, but still managing to look bored and a little exasperated.

“Five or six years?” He hazarded. “Might be best to go a bit slow.”

Methodical and diligent Arthur was excellent at slow. He used his too slippery hands to his advantage, giving Eames the most tortuously languid handjob he’d ever had the privilege to receive. All the while, he stretched him with dexterous fingers. His eyes bore directly into Eames, glittering in the dark.

“I’m ready.” Eames panted when another long stroke threatened to propel him over the edge.

“Roll over.”

“Woof.” But obligingly, he went, raising his hips wantonly.

One hand caressed his ass and came down with a sharp stinging slap.

“Hey!” He looked over his shoulder. “That was uncalled for. Far too early to break out the kinky stuff.”

“It wasn’t kink.” Arthur picked the baby oil back up and slicked his cock liberally until it gleamed. “I’ve wanted to spank you for a long time. You’re infuriating.”

“Most men would settle for a manly punch to the face.”

“I tried that. You thought I was flirting with you.”

“You were.”

“Maybe.” He pushed on Eames’ hips. “Down a bit.”

When they were of a level, the thick head of Arthur’s cock slipped over Eames’ over excited skin.

“Fuck, I want you.” He could feel everything in his straining towards Arthur.

“Good.”

Arthur lined himself up again, everything almost too slippery. The head of his cock ran in skittering teases over Eames’ hole until finally with a frustrated growl, it sank in a careful fraction. An inescapable hiss of pain rattled through his lips and he felt Arthur hesitate.

“Don’t stop.” He said firmly. “It’ll be worse if you stop.”

A hand wrapped around his waist. He could feel the muscles quivering in Arthur’s forearm as he dragged him slowly backwards. Centimeter by centimeter, the burn spread through him. It hurt like burning his hand on a pot, hot and fast and also somehow, inexplicably, good.

“I’m in.” Arthur’s breath brushed over his ear. They had wound up pressed nearly to the wall, kneeling with Eames half in Arthur’s lap.

“I can tell.” He wanted to laugh, to release the pressure of emotion and sensation swelling in him. “Go on then.”

“I’ve waited this long. I can manage a few more seconds for your body to adjust.”

Pressed flush together, they both waited in the close air, Arthur occasionally brushing his lips over the back of Eames’ neck, raising up all the tiny hairs there. It took long seconds, perhaps minutes, before his body relaxed to the intrusion, but when it did it was all at once.

“Now.”

And all the fumbling and misadventure that had gone before was forgotten as Arthur pulled out only a fraction and pushed in again. Bright sparks of pleasure picked over Eames’ skin.

“Good?”

“Go.” Eames enunciated into the wall. “For all that is holy.”

Arthur went. He fucked him in long clean strokes that lit his nerves on fire. Their skin stuck together with sweat. He could barely hear Arthur’s breathy moans and the slap of skin over the rush of blood in his ears. He fumbled the arm not propping him against the wall down to his cock which was now doubly slick with oil and precome.

When he came, it was with a strangled groan, biting into his own arm. His come splattered one of the pillows and the wall. Shaky, he sank down towards the mattress. Only Arthur’s arm, still wrapped around his waist kept him poised for continued thrusts.

“Arthur.” Eames managed to ask huskily. “Please.”

The body behind him shuddered, shook and the mechanical easiness of the thrusts devolved into a mess of jerks and skitters. His ass protested the final too hard penetration and he grunted as Arthur pulled out with a sodden sucking sound.

“Sorry.” Arthur said faintly and fell to the bed beside him.

“Don’t be.” Pulled him closer, Eames aimed a kiss at his lips and got a mouth full of nose. “Next time we’re doing this in bloody daylight or at least with a lamp on.”

“Or you could learn to see in the dark.” Somehow, Arthur managed to get the angle right and they exchanged a long lazy kiss.

“Don’t take this the wrong way, but you smell like talcum and spunk. And I think my arse cheeks are sticking together.”

“Lovely. Shower?”

They crept into the guest bathroom. When the light flipped on, Eames had to blink several times to adjust and then took in the chaos before him.

“Hurricane Arthur?” The contents of the medicine cabinet littered the sink like a devastated army.

“I was on a mission.” Regarding the mess, Arthur turned on the water. “I’ll clean it up later.”

The water proved lukewarm with occasional sluices of boiling. Arthur grinned at Eames curses and distracted him by cleaning him thoroughly with a wash cloth from top to bottom. Eventually, Arthur tumbled him into the bed in the guest room and departed to strip the sheets on his own bed. Eames sank into an uneasy sleep.

Eames awoke disoriented in the dark and took a few long breaths to place himself. Scrubbing at his eyes, he grabbed up his discarded slacks and went looking for his missing host. The stairs were blessedly silent and the faint spill of light under a door downstairs marked the basement. He could hear the hum of machinery as came down the stairs.

Perched on top of the dryer, Arthur’s feet beat an idle rhythm. Hair mussed and dressed only in an ancient pair of pajama paints, he looked a decade younger. Apparently he’d been reading, but the book lay neglected on his lap as he stared into space. When he finally spotted Eames’ on the stairs, a lazy half-smile curled over his lips. A curl of warmth started to unfurl in Eames’ stomach as he came to stand between the V of Arthur’s legs. The vibration thrummed pleasantly against his legs.

“I used to come down here and study.” Arthur said quietly, one hand coming to rest on the back of Eames’ neck. “I’d lock the basement door to keep them out.”

“Must’ve been hard to get a bit of peace.” He murmured vaguely, concentration all on the stroke of fingers over sensitive skin.

“I wanted to get away.” Bending down Arthur kissed him, legs tightening around him possessively. “I used to plan how I’d do it. The money I would make, the exotic places I would live.”

“And?” Eames raised an eyebrow.

“And what?” Arthur’s smile resolved into a grin. “I did it. I forget sometimes when I’m here, but I did exactly what I planned to do.”

“Man could get complacent having everything he wants.” Eames let his hands rest on Arthur’s thighs.

“Do I seem complacent to you?” The smile was gone in a moment and the predator’s gaze returned, sharp and accessing.

“Never, darling.” Eames assured him, patting his thigh. “You’re the most dangerous princess at the prom.”

“Thank you, Mr. Eames.” Arthur slid off the dryer, pressing full length against him. “You’re condescension is always appreciated.”

“That’s my line and you’ve got it wrong.”

“I’m a felon. Do you think I’m worried about a little copyright infringement?”

“Not sure what goes on in your head.” Eames admitted, feeling pained. “It’s a bit more labyrinthine than I originally suspected.”

“Good. I’d hate to lose your attention now that I have it.” Playful, sharp and sincere.

“You always had it.” Eames assured him, moving in for another kiss.

Epilogue

David Bowie’s voice confided about his fear of Americans until Eames fumblingly found his phone. He settled back in under the covers, kissing the space between Arthur’s shoulder-blades before clicking the receive button.

“Honeymoon hotel, how may I direct your call?” He yawned.

“Where are you?” Ariadne demanded, her voice distant and tinny. “And why on earth would you imagine that I’d want a neon blue horse for Christmas?”

“It’s four am here, petal.” Eames huffed a sigh. “And didn’t anyone ever tell you it’s in poor taste to criticize a gift?”

“Do you know how worried I’ve been?” She hissed. “No one’s heard from you for two months and Arthur’s missing!”

“Missing?” Eames stared at the birthmark on Arthur’s shoulder.

“You’d know if you’d called in like you were supposed to! He hasn’t contacted Dom or me since he left the job early with no explanation. No one’s heard from him. We’ve been going crazy!”

“We?” Eames sleep soaked brain tried to make some movement.

“Dom and I.” Her tone shaded towards embarrassment. “He’s in Paris visiting and looking for Arthur.”

“He’s not missing.” Eames finally managed.

“You know where he is?”

“Yes.” He stroked a hand over dark hair. “Right as rain. Just wanted to spend some time with his family.”

“Arthur has a family? I mean...he just never mentioned...”

“State secret.” Eames grinned. “Don’t tell Dom.”

“So how do you know? And when did you see him?”

“Who’s that?” Arthur turned, eyes slitting open. “S’early.”

“Oh my god.” Ariadne shrieked into the phone. “Tell me the two of you didn’t disappear for two months because you were boning!”

“Boning?” Eames covered the bottom of the phone. “It’s Ariadne. She’s peeved that you ‘disappeared’. Says you never called Dom to tell him you were going on break.”

“Must’ve forgotten.” But half-asleep, he couldn’t hide nearly as well and Eames caught the fleeting vindictive expression. “Distracted.”

“Ah.” He uncovered the receiver. “Our mutual friend decided to have a very late teenager rebellion. I, for once, had nothing to do with the secrecy.”

“Except for ditching your phone and apartment without leaving any forwarding information.” She replied tartly.

“Does she know it’s four am?” Arthur growled, burying his face in the pillow.

“Tell him I can hear him, I do know and he wouldn’t have to deal with this if his boyfriend hadn’t mailed me a package full of glitter and the ugliest stuffed animal I’d ever seen.”

“Husband.” Eames corrected idly, smoothing Arthur’s hair back.

“I- what?”

“We got married. When was it, darling?”

“November 28th.” Arthur muttered into the pillow.

“Yes. Went up to Canada and got a lovely license. Along with some fake citizenships for everyone. Your new passport is in the horse. Everyone needs a back up. “

“You got married? To Arthur?” He could hear her fussing with something, perhaps a cup of coffee. “You guys barely tolerate each other.”

“Turns out that we were all wrong about that.”

“Is this when you tell me that you’ve been together for years and just hid it really well?”

“No.” He responded cheerfully. “This is when I tell you that Arthur has the exact opposite of commitment phobia and I’ve been considered certifiably insane since I was sixteen. Now, we’ve got to be up in three hours for a family breakfast and childish screaming, so don’t be terribly offended when I hang up on you.”

“Eam-” He clicked end and settled back into bed.

Bowie started to sing again immediately. He checked the display, frowned and hit receive, ignoring Arthur’s sleepy protest.

“You didn’t invite me.” Dom said flatly.

“Hold on, let me put someone on the line who’ll give a shit.” He set the phone down on the pillow next to Arthur’s ear. “It’s your surrogate father calling, darling. Please tell him that I have custody of you on the holidays.”

“Dom?” Arthur’s eyes finally opened all the way and he took up the phone. “Hello.”

Eames gave up on sleep and left Arthur to his awkward phone call. The tiny kitchen in their hotel suite made terrible tea, so he made terrible coffee instead and turned on the news. Over the perky canned morning laughter, he heard Arthur’s tightly clenched voice rising and falling. When he finally emerged from the bedroom, still talking. He stole Eames’ coffee.

“Look, I’ll be ready for the next job when it comes.” He was saying, making a face at the taste. “I just needed some time to do something for myself. No. No. I didn’t- She would have. But she isn’t here. No...look, just...Dom. Tell Ariadne and the kids Merry Christmas for me. Call me after New Years if there’s a job.”

He clicked the end button with a viciousness that suggested the phone wasn’t long for the world.

“Sorry.” Arthur set the phone down on the table, before sitting down on the couch next to Eames.

“For what?” Eames threw an arm over his shoulders drawing him close.

“I should’ve said something to him.”

“You can’t think that I care. You don’t owe him anything.” He kissed him on the temple. “Turn the telly on and let’s have a spot of news before we head to your mum’s house.”

The glow of the television washed over the living room, lulling them into drowsy contentment. Later, there’d be gifts and noise and the ruckus of family. Tomorrow, the rush to the airport to surprise Eames’ mother on Boxing Day. For now though, they dozed and thought of nothing.


End file.
